


Affirmation

by Whreflections



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amulet Fic, Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s05e21 Two Minutes to Midnight, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 20:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whreflections/pseuds/Whreflections
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the night before they go through with a decision Dean wishes like hell he'd never had to be part of, and Dean realizes something he's been wanting to bring up just can't be put off any more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affirmation

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in the week between 5.21 and 5.22, so any references to Swan Song that don't make sense would be because in this verse, Swan Song the way we know it now doesn't exactly exist? lol So, in that sense, AUish follow-up to 5.21.

It was midnight when Dean gave up.   
  
He’d been back and forth with himself so many times over the past couple days that he felt dizzy with it, and for some reason, it was then that he finally just cracked. He was shuffling through his bag, making sure he had everything and all the guns were taken care of(even though he already knew they were). Sam’s watch beeped, and he heard Sam take in a deep breath, like the passage of time was already weighing that much heavier on his shoulders, and that was it. Every reason he’d had not to do this tonight just went right out the window, and he dropped the bag, not even bothering to zip it up.   
  
“Alright, that’s it.”   
  
“…Dean?” He sounded just a little wary, and hell, Dean couldn’t blame him. For the past two years, he could count on one hand the amount of serious conversations they’d had that had ended well. In fact, he wouldn’t even need to use the whole hand.   
  
He rubbed his hands over his face, scrubbing hard over the stubble on his cheeks, and when he turned around he was pretty sure he knew what he was going to say. Only, he was never so good with that. He’d never been good at coming right out and saying things, even  _before_ , so at first nothing that he’d planned on came out. He just walked straight over to the bed where Sam was sitting up against the headboard  _not_  watching the news, and he snatched the remote up and turned it off, tossing it over to the side to land with a clatter near the air conditioner.   
  
“Dean, what?”   
  
If he’d been able to come up with the words he’d meant to have a couple minutes ago, he’d have been able to answer that. Instead, he just took Sam’s face in his hands, leaning over to bring their lips together. It was slight at first, just a tentative brush but then Sam’s lips moved under his and he put a little more pressure behind it, electricity jolting sharp through him at the sensation. It’d been so long that he’d almost convinced himself it hadn’t really been like this, before, but he’d been wrong. There was nothing in the world like this thing between them; there never had been.   
  
Dean parted his lips, stroked his tongue against Sam’s bottom lip. He tasted just the way he remembered, and the  _noise_ that Sam made was enough to make him shudder, all soft and low and needy, like the feel of Dean’s tongue was pure ecstasy.   
  
Sam’s hands came up then, latching onto Dean’s shoulders and pushing him back. He was breathing hard, harder than he should’ve been after just the one kiss that hadn’t lasted that long, and he wouldn’t look Dean in the eye. “No.”   
  
God, it cut him. “…’no’?” Honestly, he hadn’t thought of it. Really, though, it made sense. Just because he’d still been wanting Sam all this time didn’t mean that Sam had still felt the same. Hell, Dean probably should’ve figured that out considering Sam had been the one to break it off, but he’d figured that deep down, Sam still wanted him anyway. At least, that had been what he’d wanted to believe.   
  
“No. You don’t have to.”   
  
 _That_  threw him for a loop.   
  
Sam still wouldn’t look at him, though when Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and Sam looked just a little farther away, he could see the light catch on the way his eyes were just a little too bright. “It’s fine, Dean, really, you don’t have to.”   
  
“Sam, what the  _hell_  are you talkin’ about?” Sam opened his mouth, and Dean shifted just a little closer and kept talking. “I don’t  _have_  to do anything. It has nothing to do with anything I feel like I have to do, Sam. It’s what I  _want_  to do.”   
  
“Yeah, but…” Sam sat forward, talking with the earnest authority he always did when he thought he had it all figured out. “You want to because you think I need this, because you know I’d…because of what’s going down tomorrow. But it’s ok, Dean. You don’t have to offer just because of that, I-“  
  
“That’s what you really think, huh? Got yourself all convinced that I’m the one that ended this? Oh, that’s good. That’s really…” For God’s sake, the last thing he wanted to do right now was fight, but this…this was just too much. He pushed up off the bed, started pacing by the door. There were a dozen other retorts warring it out in the back of his mind but he shoved them all back, took a deep breath and glanced over at Sam instead. “Honestly, what the hell do you think happened, then? Cause if there’s something I missed, I’d love to hear it.” Even trying not to, it came out a hell of a lot more snappy than he’d have liked. Still, he could rationalize it by saying he had at least a little bit of a right to be upset about this.   
  
For one thing, there was tomorrow, and the thought of that was enough to put him on edge all on its own. The rest of it on top of that…that was just too much.   
  
Sam hadn’t touched him since he came back from hell. The first night, Sam had laid beside him while he fell asleep, one long arm draped over Dean’s waist as he talked quietly to him, telling him the things he’d tried, the places he’d been without him and how much he’d missed him and how Dean needed to rest and they’d figure everything out tomorrow.   
  
He hadn’t been in bed when Dean woke up, and shortly after that when he found out about Ruby, it hadn’t been all that hard to figure out where he had to have gone.   
  
“I…I didn’t want to push you, but then it seemed like you didn’t want…so I just...” He seemed absolutely incapable of finishing any part of it with coherent detail, his eyes still fixed somewhere far over to Dean’s left.   
  
“Well, I gotta say, it was pretty rough hearing who’d been taking my place while I was gone, but-“  
  
“ _Don’t_  you say that. Don’t. She  _never_  took your place.” He hadn’t meant to, exactly, but at least that had done the trick. Sam had sat forward quick, and his eyes flashed when they met Dean’s, honest rage burning in them, though it died quick.   
  
“Well if you’d let me finish, I was just gonna say that that’s been over for awhile now. And you never said a thing. Never said a thing to begin with, either, so it seemed to me you were just done, nothin’ I could do.”   
  
“You didn’t try.”   
  
“Look who’s talking.”   
  
“You just got back from hell, Dean! I thought you might need some space, I thought you might want-“  
  
“Well you didn’t think too hard about what I might want when you were fucking her, did you? Were you doin’ that while you were givin’ me some space, too?”   
  
Sam flinched, and all the fight ran out of Dean, leaving him sick and empty. “Jesus, Sam, I don’t wanna fight.” He didn’t even know until he said it just how true it was, but he could feel it then, everything in the charged atmosphere between them weighing him down. He’d had more than enough of this to last a lifetime. “I am so sick of fighting, seriously, I just…Sammy, I’m sorry, alright? For…for everything, hell, I know I’ve been messed up for awhile but-“  
  
“No, no Dean, you’re right, I-“  
  
“I don’t care.” He went back to the bed, made himself sit down though he didn’t get too close just yet. “I really don’t. Can we just…start over? I mean, let’s face it, we’ve both screwed this up, every single part of it not just…” He shook his head, looked down at his own hand, spread out against the blanket as he leaned against it. “I just don’t want to fight anymore, Sammy. I don’t. And I want things to be the way they were, and it’s not…it’s not just tonight, I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a few weeks now and I hadn’t found the right way to bring it up but then all this happened and…” And if he let Sam go without taking this chance and the unthinkable happened, then he’d never forgive himself. Not that he ever would anyway.   
  
“I didn’t.”   
  
“Didn’t what?”   
  
“Ruby, after you got back, I didn’t-“  
  
“Can we just not talk about it anymore? Huh? I mean…I’ll forget it, I’ll never bring it up again if we can just-“  
  
“Start over?”   
  
When he looked up, there was something that might’ve been hope in Sam’s eyes. “Yeah. Start over.”   
  
Sam’s eyes flickered away, his head shaking slowly. “At this point…you really think we can?”   
  
“Yeah? Yeah, maybe.” At least, it seemed that way. Just a few weeks before Sam had had enough faith in him to make him come around and break out of the walls he’d been hiding behind for months, so if they could manage  _that_ , then taking things between them back a couple years shouldn’t be so hard, in comparison. “I mean, it’s worth a shot, right?”   
  
Sam reached out to him, palm pressing against his cheek. “I’m sorry. Dean, I’m-“  
  
“You don’t need to apologize. There’s nothing…we gotta just put that all behind us. Ok?” Because if they didn’t, there was _plenty_  there on both sides to keep dredging up, but if they did, things between them would stay the way they had for the past several months. They’d been keeping everything that had come between them so fresh in their minds that the walls were well maintained, keeping them from working anything out. It was long past time they just let it all go.   
  
This time when Dean leaned in to kiss him, Sam reached out and held on. He opened his mouth to Dean immediately, and when his tongue slid against Sam’s for the first time in far too long Dean moaned, his fingers clutching at Sam’s shirt. Sam’s hands roamed around to his back, sliding down and pressing him closer. When they broke for air Sam nuzzled against him, eager and tender all at once, his eyes still shut.   
  
“God, you don’t know how much I’ve missed this, you, everything, God, Dean…”  
  
Yeah. He did. All that time plus 40 years in hell combined, but after they’d just decided to forget all of that and stop fighting, he wasn’t about to bring it up. He pushed closer, pressing Sam’s shoulders back against the headboard as he kissed him, tilting Sam’s head back just a little farther in his hand to give himself a better angle. He forced the hand he had in Sam’s shirt to ease up on its death grip, shifting over to start work on the buttons.   
  
He was still perched on the side of the bed at a little bit of an awkward angle, but that didn’t stop Sam from sliding his hands up under his shirt, rubbing warm and slow over his ribs and trying to push his shirt up all the way despite the fact that Dean wouldn’t move his arms up to take it off. He was too intent on getting Sam’s shirt unbuttoned all the way, and when he finally succeed he pressed his palm flat against Sam’s chest, his own breath catching at the way Sam whined a little against his mouth and pressed forward into his hand.   
  
It hadn’t been too long since they’d done this, though that was certainly true. More importantly, though, they’d be  _through_ so much since they’d last done this, and nothing had been right between them since. Sam was the  _only_  serious relationship he’d ever had, the only one he’d ever wanted. As far as he was concerned they’d ‘broken up’ twice, once when Sam left for Stanford and once when he came back from hell, and as far he was concerned in terms of degrees of painful separation, he’d have chosen to relive the first time over the second any day. It was one thing to miss Sam when he was on the other side of the country, and a whole other to miss him when they were still living right in each other’s space, when Sam was  _right there_  in front of him and not there all at the same time. Of course like he’d said, he was equally to blame, but either way the effect had been just as damaging. It was a rift that had long since crossed from painful into unbearable, and they’d both had no choice but to keep on living with it, because in their positions, they didn’t have the luxury of crashing, letting themselves really break down. It was one of the many things dad had taught them, and even though he knew it was a trait he’d carry for the rest of his life he’d long since realized it wasn’t healthy.   
  
Sam’s hands slid up to rest against Dean’s arms, fingers curling into the muscle as he tugged him closer. “C’mere. Dean, c’mere.”   
  
He let Sam pull him closer, moving together until they were stretched out on the bed, the sound of their boots hitting the floor echoing in quick succession as they both toed them off and kicked them off the edge of the bed. Sam pushed his shirt up again, impatient, and Dean rose up a little to yank it over his head, Sam shrugging his own all the way off in Dean’s absence. Dean rolled over to rest almost fully on top of him, Sam’s arms coming up around him to anchor him in close. That first touch of skin on skin had him swelling just a little fuller in his jeans, and Dean tried in vain to get even closer, his hips already rubbing just a little against Sam’s hip.   
  
Just then, though, he was honestly too distracted to worry about getting his pants off. Other than a few stolen glances he hadn’t felt like he had the right to take he hadn’t seen Sam’s body in ages, and he certainly hadn’t gotten a good look. He was different, muscles harder under the surface, his chest just a little bigger because of it. Dean’s fingers tangled in his hair, tugged gently back until Sam bared his neck for him, enough that he could suck just where he wanted, teeth grazing as his lips latched over the skin just over Sam’s pulse. Sam moaned, loud and desperate, and Dean couldn’t help but feel fierce pride that he could still draw that sound out of him the same way he’d always been able to.   
  
He swirled his tongue over the mark he made, breathing against damp skin. “Sammy." He just needed to hear it, to hear how different his own voice sounded saying it, now. That change had happened a few weeks ago, but he hadn’t tired of it yet. This, this was how things were supposed to be, how they’d been all his life. Sam was his world, his brother, worth his soul and everything else besides. Sam’s hands rubbed over his back, the pads of his fingers pressing lightly against his spine. He arched up into the touch even as he slid down, his lips trailed down Sam’s collar to his chest. There were new marks here, scars he couldn’t remember and he found the most obvious one on the right side, just over his ribcage. He touched first, his thumb stroking over raised skin. Sam squirmed and he followed up with his tongue, his teeth nipping lightly when he reached the end of the mark.   
  
“Where?”   
  
Sam’s hand curved around the back of his head, stroking through his hair. “Ann Arbor. Witch’s familiar. Raven. He was a nasty son of a bitch.”   
  
“They always are.” Witches. It was always something with them. He kissed the scar again, humming in pleasure when Sam’s hand kneaded against the nape of his neck, encouraging and soothing all at once. There was another by Sam’s hip that he didn’t recognize and he moved on, his palm curving against Sam’s hipbone as he laved his tongue across it. “Looks like a knife.”   
  
“It was. Demon.”   
  
There was still so much he didn’t know. It was probably stupid, really, but up until that point there had been any of Sam’s life he’d really missed. Even at Stanford he’d stopped by when he could to keep an eye on him, when Sam didn’t know it. He’d been absent but still watching, and that was a hell of a lot better than knowing hardly anything at all. Sure, Sam had pressed him about hell enough times and he hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, but that was different. Hell was hell. It didn’t change much, and when it did it was only to get worse, and even though some day Dean might want to talk about it, he wasn’t there yet. Not hardly. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to hear how Sam had spent that time, though. Minus the blood drinking and fucking that lying bitch, of course.   
  
“Do you miss yours?”   
  
The question pulled him out of his own thoughts, and it wasn’t until Sam’s thumb rubbed against the spot on his shoulder that had once been clawed to hell by a banshee that he realized Sam was talking about their scars. “Yeah. A little, I guess.” He’d remembered most of them, and it had been nice in a way. A collection, permanent marks of where he’d been, people he’d saved. The one he got saving Sam from a shapeshifter in New Mexico had been his favorite, just against the inside of his left arm.   
  
Sam’s hand rubbed a little farther down his collar, and Dean shifted up just a little more to let him keep touching him. He’d never get enough of Sam’s hands, not if they did this every day for the rest of their lives and they somehow miraculously managed to grow old. Sam’s hand fit over the handprint, dwarfing it, and he closed his eyes, let his forehead rest against Sam’s chest.   
  
“I hated this one. Right away.”   
  
“I know.” That much, he had been able to see. Sam had looked at it at first with the kind of look that promised vengeance on whoever had left it, but when he’d told him it didn’t hurt his hatred for it had only seemed to shift, not fade.   
  
“I wanted to save you myself, to…” He trailed off, cupping Dean’s face in his hand and dragging him back up for a kiss that left them both breathless. “Reminded me that I failed.”   
  
Honestly, that had probably been part of their problem for a long time. Or, part of their many problems. There’d been too much pressing going on with the apocalypse to deal with things between them as they came up, and as a consequence everything just kept building. Under it all, though, there was Sam that still thought he’d failed to save his brother, and maybe that was where everything had stemmed from to begin with.   
  
Still, now wasn’t the time to talk about it. Dean just kissed him, tongue thrusting into his mouth slow and measured until he could feel Sam really responding, his hips starting to jerk up against Dean’s thigh. He shifted over, all the way between Sam’s legs and he reached between them to work open their jeans and shove them down lower on their hips.   
  
He couldn’t have held in the way he cried out when Sam’s cock brushed his even if he’d wanted to. He hadn’t just missed this, he’d  _ached_ for it, and at first he thrust against him mindlessly, able to think of nothing beyond the need to get closer, to feel Sam’s body move against his.   
  
“Dean…” Sam whispered his name against his ear, and his hands came down to grip Dean’s hips hard, grinding up against him. “Oh, God, Dean…”  
  
“Sam. Shit, Sammy, I…” He gave up on the words, brought their lips together again in kiss that was messy and hungry but oh so good, his teeth catching on Sam’s lower lip as he pulled away, panting heavily. His arms shook and he hooked them around Sam’s shoulders, his head burrowing against Sam’s neck as he lost himself in the way they moved together.  
  
He could feel the way Sam’s chest heaved, hear the rasp of air through this throat and he kissed whatever he could reach. Sam had always been a biter than liked the same in return and even though he meant to sink his teeth into soft skin he just grazed over it instead, more interested in tasting the salt on his skin against his tongue.   
  
Sam moaned, fingers flexing against Dean’s hips, his own movement almost stuttering to a stop. He turned his head, nuzzling against Dean’s neck, voice husky with arousal as he whispered against his ear. “Want you inside me so bad, Dean.”   
  
He  _nearly_  came right then. Nearly. But under the  _want_  there was honest desperation in Sam’s voice, and Dean couldn’t help but respond to that. He bit his lip, hard enough that he tasted iron, and he forced himself to pull just a little bit away. Doing this for real had sort of been his whole plan anyway, back when he’d had a plan, but then he’d gone nearly insane trying to make up his mind, and then they were actually  _touching_  each other again and at that point he’d been pretty sure they were gonna be lucky to make this last any appreciable amount of time at all much less managing to get too far with it.   
  
He went to roll over, couldn’t help but smile just a little when Sam wouldn’t let him go. “Lemme up. Gotta get to the bag.” He let go, reluctantly, fingertips trailing down Dean’s arm as he pulled away, and he was quick shuffling around in his bag until he found the bottle he’d bought weeks ago and hadn’t had the nerve to do anything but stare at nearly every night when he got ready for bed. He tilted it back and forth in his fingers, smiling as he crawled back over Sam on the bed. “See? Told you I’ve been thinkin’ about it.”   
  
Sam’s own lips quirked up, just a little bit of the light reaching his eyes. “Yeah? You gonna keep thinking about it?”   
  
If he’d been a little less desperate, he’d have teased him more. As it was, he just jerked his jeans all the way off, shoving them in the floor and kicking his own off after them. He lubed up one finger quick, rubbed a little against his entrance before he pushed in.   
  
Right then, everything slowed down. He wasn’t sure what it was, maybe the look on Sam’s face as his jaw went slack, eyes closing as he head tilted back and he moaned softly. It probably was exactly that, really, because he looked nearly as raw and open as he had at 16 the first time they’d done this in Bobby’s spare room, and everything all closed in around him. Tomorrow and Lucifer and how much he’d missed while he was busy being angry and keeping himself from being hurt anymore. All of it was right there, and he wrapped his hand around the back of Sam’s neck, kissing across his jaw and up to the corner of his eye.   
  
He didn’t want to take this too quickly. He couldn’t. Because once it was over it was over, and there was so much he still needed to say that he knew he never could, but this, this he could do. And if this was the last chance he had for Sam to know that he’d never stopped loving him as much as he had since he was four and dad shoved Sam into his arms, then he didn’t want to risk leaving any doubt in his mind.   
  
He rested his forehead against Sam’s, their breath mingling, and he worked a second finger inside, scissoring them slowly. Sam’s hips rose up just a little in response and Dean moaned, brushed their lips together so Sam could feel it.   
  
“Sammy…C’mon, Sam, talk to me.” Anything just to hear his voice right now, anything at all.   
  
“ ‘ve missed you. You said things’d never be the same and…” He swallowed hard, breaking off as his hips rocked just a little harder against Dean’s fingers.   
  
By ‘talk’ this wasn’t exactly what he meant, but it probably should’ve been what he expected. Sam could never let things go until he felt like he’d said everything under the sun there was to say about it. Dean tended to take the approach that most of the time, if it was important they already both knew it anyway and it didn’t  _need_  to be said. Still, sometimes he was wrong. It had happened. He crooked his fingers up, rubbing slow and insistent, finding the right spot on the first try from years of practice. Sam jerked and writhed against him, clutching him closer, and Dean’s heart beat just a little faster in his chest.   
  
Sam was beautiful like this; he always had been. On days when they had the time Dean loved to make him come just like this, to watch him fall apart first, listen to the desperate sounds he made and feel the way his muscles clenched around Dean’s fingers when he came, shooting hot against his chest. It was tempting, now, but for tonight it wasn’t what either of them needed.   
  
He turned his head, stubble scraping against Sam’s cheek as he rubbed against him. “You know I didn’t mean it. I just…I thought it’d be easier that way, you know? Better for us.” It was a lie, a little bit. At that point, he’d just been trying to worry about better for  _him_. He hated even thinking it, now, but that was how bad it had gotten there for awhile. At the time, it had seemed the only way he was gonna manage this and stay sane would be to make himself stop caring. It hadn’t worked, and the failed process of trying had been hell on both of them.   
  
“Wanted you to ask me to stay.”   
  
Dean squeezed his eyes shut tight, focused on the feel of Sam’s teeth against his neck, the bite gentle. “Didn’t want you to want to go. But I thought…” That it’d be easier. That had been his rationale for most everything around that time. “Sammy…”   
  
He just wanted to forget about it, all the way. Just slice the past two years out, splice in everything else but leave out all the shit that had happened between them and kept them apart. Sam kissed him then, and Dean could feel his hand shake. “Dean, please.  _Please_.”   
  
Yeah. He couldn’t wait much longer, either. He shifted over, pushed Sam’s thighs up just a little higher and lifted his hips. Dean could feel the muscle flutter around him as he pushed in, Sam’s body trying to adjust to taking him again after so long apart, but when he tried to stop and wait Sam wouldn’t let him, whimpering and tugging on his shoulders in a plea that Dean couldn’t resist. All the way in he did pause, leaning over to rest on his arms, letting them both adjust. They kissed, and Dean wished desperately he could sink in just a little deeper.   
  
All the girls he’d been with when he was younger and when Sam was at Stanford, that was always different. He treated them well, sure, but they weren’t  _Sam_ , and to him it had never felt the same. With Sam, it was always something more, and he could feel that now when he started to move. He kept it slow the way he wanted, even though he trembled with what it took to hold back. Sam’s hands were on his back again, sliding up and down and across his shoulders, touching everything he could reach and Dean couldn’t stop kissing him, craving the taste of Sam on his tongue, the way he could _feel_  him moan all the way to the back of his throat.   
  
When he tucked his head against Sam’s neck again his skin felt damp, and he wasn’t at all sure if it was from Sam’s tears or his. “Sam…” It slipped out from behind gritted teeth and Sam responded, his body rising up just a little harder, one leg wrapping tight around Dean’s waist. Sam’s cock was trapped between their bellies, and when Dean felt it twitch just a little harder he shifted his weight to be able to reach between them and take Sam’s length in his hand, swallowing the sound he made when Dean’s fingers wrapped around him.   
  
He jerked him with the same slow, easy rhythm hips thrust into him with, only speeding up when Sam came hard, body arching up as warm liquid trickled down between their chests and over his fingers. He let go, leaning on both arms again, thrusting just a little harder, Sam’s body warm and pliant beneath him. Sam’s fingers trailed through his hair again, and when Sam kissed his forehead he came with a sharp cry, buried deep inside him.   
  
How long they held on and lost themselves in shared breath and kisses that each seemed more necessary than the last he didn’t know, but when he finally pulled out and rolled off of Sam, though Sam reach over and switched off the light he didn’t let Dean go far. He kept his arms wrapped around him and rolled with him until they were both resting side by side, facing each other in the dark.   
  
Sam’s callused fingers rubbed over the soft skin on his wrist before he slipped his fingers through Dean’s, squeezing. He could feel Sam’s breath slowing to match his, heartbeats already almost in synch. Even if he only ever admitted it to himself, it was this part he’d missed more than anything else, the  _intimacy_  that he’d never had or wanted to have with anyone else. Just Sam. It had always been Sam.   
  
“If you asked me to stay with you, I would.”   
  
Of all times, he didn’t want to think about this  _now_. That’d been half of the reason he hadn’t been able to make up his mind about doing this tonight, honestly. There’d been the ‘Sam won’t trust your motives’ argument, but the ‘you stupid idiot it’d be better if you didn’t’ argument had been close behind. Still, that fell under the same kind of logic he’d been following before about trying not to get himself hurt, and he’d already decided that was crap. It had only ever made things worse between them, not better, and the trade off just wasn’t worth it.   
  
He sighed, shut his eyes even though they hadn’t adjusted well enough to be able to see Sam’s face yet anyway. “I know. But that’s why I can’t.” Because if he trusted that Sam would stay for him(and he did), then he had to be able to trust Sam with everything else. Even if he didn’t want to.   
  
He was quiet for so long Dean was almost sure that was it, but his fingers finally tightened just a little around his own and he shuffled a little closer. “Dean?”   
  
“Yeah, Sam?”   
  
“I’m…” He laughed, and only Dean would have been able to hear just how nervous it was. “I’m really scared, man. I mean, I…but I think I can do this. And if I can, then we can…we can do what you said. Go back to the way things were.”   
  
Yeah, he’d have liked that. They couldn’t ever, not really, not all the way, but if right now was any indication, they could have something close, and maybe just a little bit better, and God the self preservation thing might’ve been a better idea after all.   
  
“I wanna be there. Tomorrow.”   
  
He felt Sam shake his head. “No. He could kill you, and I can’t…I won’t watch that. Not again, not from my own hands, Dean, it’d…I can’t handle that.”   
  
It was pretty likely he would kill him, honestly, but once it got to tomorrow, Dean was pretty sure he wouldn’t care. “I won’t leave you to do this alone. I can’t.” Hell, there was no way he’d have ever let Sam face a single fucking spirit alone if he could help it, much less the devil.   
  
Sam didn’t answer, just pulled his hand away and wrapped his arms around Dean’s back instead, pulling him in to rest his head against Sam’s shoulder.   
  
“Goodnight, Dean.”   
  
Dean swallowed hard against the lump in his throat, tried a few times before he was sure the words were gonna actually come out alright. “Night, Sammy.”   
  
‘’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’   
  
It was the light through the windows that woke him, and that was the first thing he registered.   
  
Light, crappy hotel shades, morning, and then the fact that last night, he’d finally fallen asleep next so Sam again. He reached for him, hand stretching out across the sheets, and it was then that everything else caught up and he practically tumbled out of bed, stumbling and catching himself on the nightstand.   
  
The clock was blank, and it took him all of two seconds to find the cord that had been yanked from the wall. He should’ve expected this, really he should’ve and he _knew_  it, but he hadn’t slept that soundly in years and Sam had more practice than anyone in the world at not waking him up. He jerked his jeans on before pulling his boots on without socks, yanked his t-shirt over his head and grabbed his jacket on the way out the door. When he shoved his hands in the pockets looking for the keys, he froze.   
  
They were there, in the left pocket, but in the right his hand had shoved up against crumpled paper and soft cord, and he pulled both out, his fingers spreading the little hotel stationary scrap out before his eyes.   
  
 _I wrote you a letter a few days ago, but I threw it away this morning because I realized everything I’d thought I needed to say didn’t need to be said anymore. I’m pretty sure you know everything, but I’d still like to be able to remind you several more times, just to be sure you’ve got it right._  
  
I’m not sorry I left, because I  won’t let him hurt you, and I promise that other than this, you can trust me. I’ll prove it after this is over, I promise.   
  
I guess I’ll meet you at the church. Be careful, please.   
  
At the bottom there was more, written sloppy and at an angle like he’d added it last minute.   
  
 _Thought you might want this back._    
  
He crumpled the paper in one hand, let his fingers curve around the amulet with the other. The points dug into his hands, the metal cold, and he sank back against the bed they hadn’t used, fist pressed against his lips to hold in the sound threatening to break free.   
  
 _If you asked me to stay with you, I would._  
  
At the moment, that seemed like exactly what he should’ve done. The world could go to hell.   
  
His hand opened, the paper dropping to the floor, his grip on the amulet only tightening as he started to break down. 


End file.
